


DC11: Crossing the Border

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: Crossing the Border: it all went to hell in a handbasket and while Kid is thinking of doing the right thin, Heyes is thinking on revenge.Destiny’s Cycle (DC) follows the Outlaw days.. what does Destiny have in store. Each month, I get a challenge, and then the cycle continues. You can follow KC, HH, & the gang through their adventures. DC does link together, but some tales stand on their own. Yet, its building its own world history, inside jokes, characters, places, etc. I hope you enjoy DC. Feedback WELCOMED!





	DC11: Crossing the Border

“Crossing the Border”

 

Their horses ran with their bellies stretched along the bent grass; running full out into the wind, filled with so much rain, it felt like they were battling a spring, swollen river. Then the hail started, at first it was like grit being blown up from a Tombstone street, but steadily, it increased until marble size rocks were bruising them. Despite this, each of them felt like cheering. For they knew, they had not only escaped Harold’s plans, but the twister, too; as every child of the plains knows, a twister sucks all the wind to it as it races across the prairie.

With the battering deluge moving on, the sun appeared shining bright on the glistening, wet land and the pair of them shifted their weight backwards, speaking soothingly to their horses. In less time than either of them thought it would take, the animals fell from their pounding run to a gallop to a jarring trot until they were walking. Even as this was happening, Curry was working on the wet ties binding his hands. Using a rush of brute force he burst the ties apart, so suddenly, he about unseated himself when his arms flew apart and leaning down, he grabbed the bay’s dragging rein, “easy boy, whoa.”

Heyes sorrel walked nearby and reaching over Curry snagged the headstall bringing the animal to halt, before he stepped from his saddle. Flipping the sorrel’s reins criss-cross over its neck, he looked up, his eyes brilliant blue against his golden sun baked skin. “That really happened, didn’t it?”

“It did. But, it will sound like a hell of a whopper when we retell it.” Heyes replied, shifting his shoulders, raising and lowering his tied hands. “If ‘n you don’t mind.” 

Reaching up, Curry set to releasing his pal and seeing not a trace of blood about the wrists, he growled, “You didn’t even try to free yourself.”

“Saw you were doing a fine job on your own.”

Throwing the ties in the grass, Kid grumped, “there are days, Heyes, there are days.”

With a robust laugh, Heyes stretched his arms over his head and picking up his reins, said, “Let’s get moving.”

With a nod, Curry swung aboard and seeing Heyes aiming his sorrel northwest, stated, “Wrong way?”

Heyes looked about and pointing northwest, replied, “Wyoming is that way.”

“But, we’re going back.”

“BACK!?”

“Can’t leave ‘em lying out there, possibly wounded.” Kid responded, pointing his horse down their back trail.

Heyes eyes narrowed, he looked to the northwest and back to his cousin, “I can.”

Turning his horse, enough to see his cousin, Curry laid a long appraising look on him.

“Fine, but you can lead the way, and don’t forget we’re not armed.”

With about ten minutes of walking, they topped a rise and at the bottom was three horses grouped tight together, each dropping their head to take quick, rushed bites of grass.

“So where are the other two?” Kid asked, his eyes scanning the prairie, “and their riders.”

“About now, Harold is explaining his wayward, backstabbing ways to St. Peter.”

Not bothering to halt his search of the grass surrounding them, Curry grunted, “What?”

“The bolt that set everything in motion, landed square on Harold MacKeefe.”

At this Curry did look at his partner, “I heard tell of it happening often enough, but…” he shook his head, a grin appearing, “Wouldn’t that be what Grandpa used to call just deserts.”

A chuckle rolled from Heyes, “might be at that.”

Keeping on the high side of caution, they meandered their horses in and amongst the other three and sliding down Curry collected the trailing reins. Then passing by the gray, not wanting the shotgun it carried, he pulled a rifle from the next horse’s rigging and passed it up to his partner before seizing one for himself off the last horse.

“Your rigs in Walter’s saddle bag.” Heyes said, pointing to the speckled mare.

“That’s why I like traveling with you.”

Corner of Heyes’ mouth quirked, a dimple creasing his cheek.

“Cause there ain’t much you ever miss.” Curry replied, removing his holster from the bag and unrolling it with a large smile. Once it was buckled on, he pulled the Colt checking its loads, and dropping it back in the skid, said, “Hot damn, that feels better.” And, when he looked up, his face was shining with the truth of his happiness, “So, where’s yours?”

“Harold said he fancied my choice on the Scholfield.”

Curry cringed.

One dark brow cocked up sharply.

“Don’t know if you’ll be getting that back.”

“I will.”

The smile twisted, “sides that pistol, ain’t worth worrying about.”

“I think it is.”

Leaping onto his bay, Kid grumbled, “You are just plain out determined to carry a sidearm I frowned on.” And, laying the rifle across his thighs, he took out after Heyes and the pony train he was leading away. “That’s it, ain’t it?”

There was no indication his partner had heard him, but Curry knew he had and snorted, before barking, “Why can’t you concede, I know better here, you hard-headed mule?”

Grinning into his bandana, Heyes gigged the horses into a trot, keeping them moving until they came upon a straight line of ground, rutted like a train had run off its tracks. The earth was ripped, twisted, and littered with small limbs and pieces of lumber from elsewheres.

“Looks like it did a touch and jump,” Curry commented, looking back at the thirty some rods of plowed land, they had just passed.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

Suddenly the rifle was in Curry’s hands, “Boys, I see you and a pistol, ain’t the only weapon I’m accurate with.”

Heyes dark eyes squinted toward where his cousin was looking, after a breath or two, he whispered, “you really see ‘em?”

Curry’s finger squeezed the trigger and the barrel never wavered in his steady hands, but its bullet brought forth a startled yelp. “Unless you’re wanting further examples my accuracy… Stand Up! Drop your sidearms and hold your hands up, high as you can reach.”

Three men, who were very familiar to Heyes and Curry, rose from the grass and the one gripping his shoulder, shouted, “Damn it, Kid you shot me. I can’t raise my arm.”

“You raise it, Walter, or I’ll drop you where you stand and you won’t need to worry on it no more.”

A wide, pointed grin slid across Heyes’ face, he liked the game, but also knew his cousin would never do such thing. However, when he looked over, the hard set of Curry’s face made him start rethinking that notion right quick. He cocked an eye back at Walter, who had taken great enjoyment in tying Kid up each night, always being considerably rougher than he needed.

Urging their horses within an easier target distance, Curry pulled up, stating strong, and clear, “where’s Anthony?”

Barton spoke up, “Anthony stuck to his horse when it turned to hell in a hand basket, and then that dog rode off leaving us a foot.”

Curry nodded, grunting, “Heyes, tie ‘em up.”

Hopping down, Heyes worked his way down the line and when he snagged Walter’s hands, the man whined, “Damn it, that hurts.”

“Sure it does.”

“Well, show some mercy.”

“Like you ever have,” Heyes responded, recalling how tight Walter had bound his own hands, a wicked gleam came to the dark eyes and he made sure to repay the favor. Then, jerking the man’s bandana over his head, Heyes placed it against the wound and using the rest of the rawhide, secured it in place.

“I’m gonna bleed out from such lousy bandaging.”

“Hush up!” Heyes snapped, revealing a cougar sharp smile, “You’re a long way from dying.”

Retrieving the pistols, he shoved them in his saddle bag before turning to eye the lump a ways off, “That Harold out there?”

 Barton nodded, looking truly sad.

“How bad is it?”

James took a step forward, “blackened ‘em some, but it ripped his horse up something terrible. He shook his head, “had to shoot that poor animal, it was wobbling around with his head nearly on the ground.”

Barton was nodding, and if his hands were free, he most likely would have rubbed at his glistening lashed, “it sure did kill Harold though.”

Getting them on their horses was a chore, one which Heyes did not appreciate as Curry remained mounted, rifle hanging easy in his grip. Dropping in his own saddle, he aimed the sorrel for Harold.

“Heyes, damn it, we got plenty of pistols here for you to choose from.

Gigging his horse, he kept moving and when the sorrel set to snorting, he whoa’d the animal stepping down. He could see his Schofield stuck in Harold’s waistband before bending over, he kicked Harold’s boot. The foot flopped stiffly. Moving up, he stepped on Harold’s out flung hand, adding more weight as he stood there until he felt certain the man was too dead to feel anything or more importantly to be laying possum for him. Swiping up the Schofield, he used the barrel to open Harold’s vest and with cat’s paws lifted out the wallet sitting there.

On returning, James saw the wallet and grumped, “Never thought you’d be one to steal from the dead.”

“You are right there.” Heyes replied, “I’m retrieving my property.” Opening the wallet, he made a show of counting out four-hundred and thirty-two dollars and let the wallet fall from his hands.

Curry’s brows bunched as the wind ruffled the bills splaying out of the wallet, before he thought what he wanted to say, Barton interrupted him, “What you fixin’ to do with us?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Heyes answered, leading them northwest, despite the constant line of questioning, and complaining Hannibal Heyes would not divulge his plans even as the hours passed and the sun had their long black shadows straggling out before them. But, during the afternoon he had pulled out his journal book and took a good deal of time writing and smiling as he wrote on three separate pages which earned him many quizzical glances from his own partner.

At one point Curry even asked, “What are you up to?”

“You’ll see,” was all the answer he got other than a playful wink.

The prairie was dark this evening, the moon, but a small sliver in the sky and the same quiet darkness blanketed the town of Wano as they rode in at the first large tree, Heyes had them all stop.

“Get down.”

“With our hands tied.”

“You expected the same from Kid and I. Fact is, my ribs still ached from hitting the ground two nights ago,” Heyes pulled the long knife he had taken from James’ boot earlier, “Now get down before I prod you off.”

The three men did as told, Walter hitting the ground with a shriek.

“Damn, but you sound like a stomped on cat.” Heyes teased, pulling the man to his feet. “Sit on down with your backs to the tree.”

Seeing what was up, the large smile that made Curry look so young appeared and snagging a lariat from Barton’s saddle, he roped the men to the tree, just as he had been forced to endure since their capture. As he did this, Heyes swiped a spot smooth in the dirt and carved ‘WANTED’ and using the same blade, he stabbed the three journal pages into the ground.

“What’s that?” James asked, motioning toward the papers.

“Your names, known crimes, and the states looking for the whole group of you; that way, whoever finds you can collect your rewards.”

A laugh burbled up out of Curry.

“Now, Heyes, you’re known to be a fair man.” Barton said, “You too, Kid.”

“That we are,” Heyes replied. “That we are and this is fair turn around, seeing as you were jawing on about how each of you was going to be spending our rewards since you nabbed us.” Leaning an arm across his cousin’s shoulder, he laughed, “Only now y’all ain’t going to be spending nothing but time.”

“You leave us like this Heyes, and we’ll send ‘em after you.” Walter growled.

“Go right ahead.” Heyes smiled, standing straighter and snugging his gloves tighter, “once we hit the Arikee Breaks, we’ll be hard to follow.”

“And, we got five horses to switch through, so we’ll be traveling fast.” Curry put in, tugging his hat down lower. “Makes me feel real confident about our chances of crossing the Wyoming border and making it safe back to the Hole.” Then, with a large smile, Curry touched a finger to his hat brim and swung aboard, but before following his partner who was already trotting off with the line of ponies. He just had to circle by the men, “too bad Harold never explained to y’all that blood money is bad luck from the moment you start dealing in it.”

 

  


 

 

 

 


End file.
